


"Dear John"

by N_Scribe



Series: Ink Stained Fingers (Hollirey involving Letter-wrting) [1]
Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Because I needed fluff okay?, Just a fluffy drabble involving letter writing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:49:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23497798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/N_Scribe/pseuds/N_Scribe
Summary: Author’s note: So go with me here that as a man of clear intellect, I honestly think that Robert would have been the type to write letters and not just letters but intimate letters to those he loved. It’s something that he keeps as Bobo Del Rey but no one knows because that got him insulted plenty before and it was his and…So he only does it if there is implicit trust between him and the person or if the feelings run that deep.So you get this. Because in these trying times I need fluff with Bobo and Doc.Enjoy. Also, yes I couldn’t resist the name of this one. I promise it has nothing to do with the movie.
Relationships: Doc Holliday/Bobo Del Rey | Robert Svane
Series: Ink Stained Fingers (Hollirey involving Letter-wrting) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1690747
Kudos: 4





	"Dear John"

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Plot is mine (as is the HC) and the characters are borrowed in this work of fan-made fiction off of which no money is made. 

_ “Dear John” _

The walls might have been paper thin but thankfully, they seemed to keep the constant scratching from behind heard outside. While he wasn’t sure anyone would figure it for what it actually was, Bobo was in no mood to try and come up with an explanation that was anywhere near the truth. 

Which meant he’d have to deal with the trash can filled with balled up pieces of paper himself but that was a worry for another time. 

Blue eyes narrow at the paper before him and he contemplates the words; written and re-written more times than he’d cared to think about and huffs. 

He was getting soft and sentimental here. Clearly. But that doesn’t stop him from going on pressing the quill to the paper and resuming. And it was a quill because as nice as pens were these days there was something nostalgic about an ink quill. 

He taps the fingers of his other hand, almost idly, as he writes, blue eyes going distant almost soft. Damn this man for how he made him feel or for the fact that he was doing this! And if he didn’t appreciate it they were going to find him in a well again with the letter stuffed in his mouth. 

But like the trash can needing to be emptied discreetly, that was a problem for future!Bobo to clean up. He is struggling to ignore the parts of him hoping he wouldn’t have to. 

Hope wasn’t something for demons was it?

Two days is how long it takes before he folds the paper carefully and slips it into the envelope. He considers a lot of ways to address it and decides to hell with it and flourishes “John Henry Holliday” across it. 

Now the problem lay in how exactly he planned on it getting to the man without raising suspicion. The thought of anyone but Doc reading it was enough to twist something in him that he ignores wholeheartedly. Writing was a private, personal thing and this, this he only wanted for John Henry’s eyes. The bar was too open and he refuses to have another Earp find his hobbies something to be amused by. He almost hadn’t lived down Wyatt interrupting him in the midst of writing poetry. 

It wasn’t happening again. 

So he makes a trip to the station. If nothing else, a certain officer would probably be far less likely to either comment or give it to anyone other than Holliday himself. Of course he’s sure he makes a sight strutting in and isn’t surprised when Officer Haught nearly falls out of her chair at the sight of him clearly going wary. “Can...Can I help you?” she says in what he’s sure she’s hoping is a commanding voice. 

He decides to cut her a break and not make the snarky comment that comes to mind (see he could show mercy) and instead says, “Need this to get to your layabout gunslinger. You know, the one who should be dead but ain’t.”

“You mean Doc.” 

“Exactly,” he says holding out the thick envelope, “Make sure he’s the only one who gets this if you don’t mind.” 

To her credit, she only hesitates slightly before taking it. “Okay, sure. Anything else?” 

“Nope,” he says, “Good day, Officer Haught. Take care of Purgatory’s good folks.” And he’d turn and walk out leaving her probably with more questions than answers. And that was pretty much how Bobo liked it. 

*~*~*~*

  
He’s contemplating between whiskey and gin when there’s a soft tap at his shoulder that has him straightening to gaze at Nicole. She looks a little tense and he cocks his head slowly. “Everything alright, Officer Haught?” 

“Can we talk privately?”

There was something she needed to say to him is the instant realization and it wasn’t for others to overhear. So dismissing the morning (or was it afternoon) drinking, he rises. “Okay, let’s go and talk then.” 

She follows still tense but not in a matter that said it was an emergency. Doc had gotten very good at reading the moods of the people he called friends (family). Closing the door to his bedroom, he gives her some space as he watches her try and decide how she wants to handle whatever this was. Finally, she reaches and pulls a thick envelope out and slowly holds it to him. “This was to come to you. Just for you.” 

He gazes at the item and notes the flourished print of his name. “From…” he prompts. 

“Our resident Revenant King; Bobo Del Rey.” 

It’s all his years of poker that has him schooling his features before she sees anything he is actually feeling on the matter. “Suppose then I should see what Bobo Del Rey is up to. Can’t imagine it’s dangerous. ‘S only paper.” 

“Just...you know, be careful okay?” 

“Will do. I don’t think you need to worry overly much. Were he to be sending things to Wynonna now...that would be a different story.” Not that he thought he would if this was what he was suspecting it was. And that has something hot starting to coil. 

“You’re probably right. It was just...strange, I guess. But I’ll leave you to your business.” 

“Much obliged.” He attempts not to but he’s sure Nicole can tell he’s no longer focused on her but the item in his hands. She quickly lets herself out and closes the door. Once alone, he walks the few steps left and sinks onto the bed with a huffed, “Bobo Del Rey, whatever are you up to now?” His tone is soft, fond when he’s sure it should be annoyed and exasperated. 

But then what was going on was something he had trouble explaining to anyone including himself and just finally stopped trying. 

He opens the envelope and tugs out the folded papers. A letter. Bobo Del Rey had actually penned a honest to god letter. He gently brushes his fingers along the parchment the other no doubt ordered; a remnant of a past neither of them felt like letting go of even now. But there was something else, something more to this that he knew under it all. 

Bobo Del Rey didn’t write letters. No, that was someone else. Someone…

Carefully, he unfolds the paper eyes drawn to the top ghosting and not quite reading but admiring the splay of words, the way the other wrote with flourishes. No, this was definitely not Bobo Del Rey, Revenant King. 

_ This was Robert Svane _ .

He settles himself back so that he’s comfortable, something like this he was sure should be enjoyed and hunched at the edge of his bed was probably not the most comfortable position for anything. And he finds it was a good idea as he lets himself read, as he lets himself be given this piece of the other. 

It’s six pages that Doc could not put a price on. Six pages of pieces of a man he never thought he’d get let alone be worthy of. And he knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that it cost that man more than he’d admit to have this given to him. 

Tenderly, he refolds the pieces placing a soft kiss against the bundle. “Foolish, adorable man,” he murmurs softly, “I’m gonna have to answer this aren’t I? Dammit, Robert.” 

He’d keep these words to himself, hide them so that no one would find them. And he’d pen a reply, of course, because that’s what a gentleman did. It would be no where near the eloquence he’d been sent but he’s sure what the other is looking for is more him giving back what he’d been given. 

But if he was to reveal only a bit of what was granted, his favorite would be  _ “...and I cannot tell you how much I hate that I’m sitting here in this godforsaken trailer with a quill and ink pot spilling way too much to a drunkard who makes me crazy.  _

_ But here we are and here I am. In a trailer. With this paper and quill and too much going on because of you. Always you. Insufferable prick.” _

He could imagine how annoyed the other had been writing at that point; enough to chuckle to himself. So he could handle trying to write him back because after all it might get him to write again like this. 

And Doc would be lying if he wasn’t already addicted to this form of intimacy. 


End file.
